Waste
by Spiritus Rex
Summary: Then there were those times when there was no means of death nearby, and Curtis' gloved hands would tremble and clench as if around a thin neck. He could see himself doing it, wrapping his fingers around Edgar's throat and squeezing until those bright blue eyes went grey. He could see himself doing it. (a short Snowpiercer oneshot)


Sometimes, Curtis wanted to kill Edgar.

Sometimes, when he knew Edgar wouldn't notice, his hands would twitch towards a block of wood, or a metal pipe, or a cord of rope. And then there were those times when there was no means of death nearby, and Curtis' gloved hands would tremble and clench as if around a thin neck. He could see himself doing it, wrapping his fingers around Edgar's throat and squeezing until those bright blue eyes went grey. He could see himself doing it.

And then Edgar would turn around, young and dirty and hopeful that a better life was coming, and Curtis would drop his hands. Edgar didn't know of what the world had been like before the freeze, before the train. Edgar had been brought onto the train as a baby, and had probably only taken a few days of breath outside of the metal cars before they became his world. He hadn't lived like Curtis had, well on his way to adulthood before suddenly losing everything. He hadn't had to claw and fight to make it to his next birthday, to eat his next meal - by the time Edgar was a toddler, the protein blocks had been worked well into the system. Edgar had never known the taste of chocolate or milk or steak. Edgar had never known, but still was hopeful against all odds. And it hurt.

Sometimes, Curtis wanted to kill Edgar, _because this was no way for a child to live. _

In another day, another time, Curtis could imagine Edgar at school. Could imagine him mouthing off to teachers, but passing with flying colors. Could imagine him taking up a sport or maybe going into art, something that would become an outlet for his fiery emotions and loud ideas. Could imagine him falling in love and holding his partner close with two good arms and a clean face and a clean smile. Could imagine him with a _life._

He wanted to kill Edgar. He wanted so badly to kill the boy and free him from the train. Maybe see him again in a few hundred years if reincarnation was to be believed in. A few hundred years later, when the earth had melted, and when trains were abolished from the world, and when trains were never built or seen _ever again_.

Too many people had lost their lives upon this damn train, and if the word _train_ became synonymous with _Hell_ then Curtis wouldn't even be surprised.

_God, he wanted to kill him. _Physically kill, of course. It was a sad truth that people didn't just physically die in the tail cars, but that they also lost the light in their eyes, and slowly, they died mentally. People walked like zombies. They chewed their protein bars listlessly and let the wheels of the train rattle their bones until they fell asleep and woke up and went about their day in exactly the same way they had the day before. That wasn't living, that was surviving. Curtis didn't want that to happen to Edgar. He didn't want Edgar to waste away. He wanted Edgar to _live. _There would one day come a limit to the fire of rebellion that he knew burned deep in Edgar's heart, and, selfishly, Curtis didn't want to see that day.

He would rather snuff out the fire himself. So that Edgar would never have to eat another protein bar with the mechanical motions of chewing but not tasting ever again. Things would be better if he killed Edgar.

But he never would.

In the end, it wasn't for Edgar's sake that he consciously chose to spare the boys life each day. In the end, it was because Curtis Everett was a _coward, _and he _knew it. _He would look at the boy he thought of as a little brother, he would look at him each day and whenever Edgar would smile then Curtis would think to himself _no, not today _if only to make himself feel better. The days soon came when Edgar smiled less and less though, and soon the days came when Edgar did not smile at all.

Yet Curtis still did not kill him.

He knew what would happen if he did. If he _saved _Edgar, then the rest of the tail car passengers would turn on him. They couldn't have a murderer in their midsts - _nevermind those first few months of terror and animalistic tearing of flesh and gnawing on bone and screams that echoed off the metal that only got closer and closer and - _and would regard him with fear, distrust, hatred.

Curtis knew that if Edgar went, he would be the next to go, and then everything would fall apart.

Sometimes, Curtis hated himself, because saving Edgar wasn't worth all the chaos that would follow as the tail car social structure collapsed inwards with the loss of himself. Edgar wasn't worth it. Not to mention the fact that Curtis was a damn coward and - _selfishly, selfishly -_ didn't want to die. Curtis came across the same dilemma every time he looked at Gilliam's arm, which ended in rough, torn, freezer burned skin just below his elbow. He could never have the courage to carve off his own arm for another living being to eat, just like he could never have the courage to save one boy and subsequently throw himself to the wolves. _Some damn leader he was. _

Each day, Edgar would ask him about something from life before the train in that odd accent of his - who had he been hanging around with so much as to take up a rough English accent? - and each day, Curtis would answer in clipped responses and gruff words, trying to keep his mind off of the burn of self-hate that thrummed through his veins. He'd spot a jagged, broken, wooden pole, and his hands would reach slowly for it. But Edgar would always turn just then, at that very moment, to ask him something else, and Curtis would want to _cry_. He was such a coward. _Such a coward. _

His hands twitched, but the train rattled onwards, and with a quiet but strong determination - _no, not today _- Edgar continued to breathe.

_This is no way to live. _

They would waste away in this train, all because Curtis was a coward, and couldn't kill Edgar. Although sometimes, Curtis wanted to.


End file.
